


In Which Bran Stands Up For His Right to Say 'Sir'

by pucktheplayer



Category: Slave Breakers - maculategiraffe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, BDSM, Dominance, Kinky, M/M, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pucktheplayer/pseuds/pucktheplayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One week after being freed, Bran talks to Holden about what he should call his former master.  Ficlet.  Post 'Lee.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Bran Stands Up For His Right to Say 'Sir'

**Author's Note:**

> While working on my two original slave!fics [9 Lives a Slave](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4358579) and [Mid Tier Slave](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4387496) I decided to re-read one of my FAVORITE original slavefics, [The Slave Breakers by MaculateGiraffe. ](http://maculategiraffe.livejournal.com/10338.html) All of the stories are excellent, and the shortfics are AWESOME. I couldn't help but want to write a little fanfic... It's nice to take a break now and then from massive works and write something short and sappy sweet! ;)

Holden sat at the desk, tapping his foot and trying his very best to pretend that he couldn’t feel Bran’s eyes boring into the back of his neck like a drill. One week ago he would have turned around and ordered his slave to tell him what was up—because something was obviously up—but there was one big problem with that particular plan. Bran wasn’t his slave anymore.

And so there they’d sat, for forty-six, no, forty-seven minutes now, with Holden pretending to study the stack of letters in front of him while Bran sat on the couch, staring. And staring. And staring. Did he mention the staring?

Seriously, if this didn’t stop soon, Holden was going to pull a muscle from the tension.

Oh, fuck it. “For the love of the gods, what do you *want*, Bran?”

The second the words were out of his mouth, Holden regretted them. How could he not, when they put that hurt look on Bran’s beautiful face? In a flash the boy was off the sofa and on his knees, forehead brushing the floor. Obviously Holden wasn't the only one who had been feeling the tension.

“I-I’m sorry, Master,” he managed to stutter out, which only succeeded in making Holden’s hands clench into fists.

“I’m not your master anymore, Bran,” he said through gritted teeth. “We've had this discussion. Nine times, in fact. You don’t have to call me master.” He sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly in an attempt to calm his nerves. The last week had been rough, really rough, but Bran was the last person he should be taking it out on. Yves, at least, would understand and Loki knew that Jer wouldn’t pull his punches if Holden made an ass of himself, but even with his Letter of Manumission in his hand, Bran still wouldn’t stand up to his former master to save his life. 

Hell, just last night he’d spent fifteen minutes pleading with Holden to tell him he was a ‘good boy,’ as if he couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than being spoken to like a dog by the man who had forced him to take his middle aged cock for half a decade.

Both Jer and Yves already had plans in place to get the hell out of dodge and make up all the time they had wasted on Holden, and in Holden's opinion it was about time that Bran did, too. Better to rip off the bandage all at once and get it over with than to tug at it slowly for another month or three or six.

Some small part of Holden was aware that he was being selfish, and that his real motives for encouraging Bran to find a life outside their so-called "family" had less to do with helping the boy get on with his life and more with not being forced to watch as the young, beautiful Bran slowly realized that playing house with the aging, temperamental Holden wasn’t really what he wanted for himself after all. However, while he was quite the psychoanalyst when it came to others, Holden was perfectly happy to ignore this realization in favor of the much easier belief that it would be best for everybody if Bran got over his delusions of loyalty ASAP. It hurt at lot less that way.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Bran said again, falling back into his old habit of apologizing for everything. “I didn’t mean to call you ‘master,’ sir, I’m just not used to this whole freedom thing yet.“

“Don’t call me ‘sir,’ either,” Holden replied shortly. “You’re a grown up and a free man. You don’t have to ‘sir, yes sir’ me all the time. I don’t own you. I’m not the boss of you.”

Bran frowned at that. “Well, technically, sir—“

“Okay, I am the boss of you, but Alix is sort of the boss of me seeing how she’s the one who really started this business, but you don’t see me ‘m’am, yes m’aming’ her all the time.” Holden's voice softened and he reached out, running a hand through Bran’s curls, gently tugging the boy to his feet. The boy's eyes were shiny and his lip was shaking a little. Great, just great. Maybe he *had* deserved the title of 'slave breaker.' “Oh Bran,” Holden murmured, pulling him into his lap and nuzzling at his neck. He smelled like cinnamon and apples, and Holden wondered if they'd be having pie for dinner. Not that pie was really what he was interested in tasting right now. “I’m sorry. I’m being an ass, aren’t I?”

Bran looked away, and Holden chuckled. 

“You have the right to say it now, you know. I’m a jackass. In fact, maybe *that’s* what you should call me if you don't like Holden. ‘Good morning, Jackass.’ ‘How are you doing, Jackass?’ ‘Ready for dinner, Jackass?’” Bran looked back up to him, and his trembling lip had morphed into a bright smile. God, what had he done to deserve such a sweet kid? Other than stick his dick in the poor boy's mouth while he was tied up in the car.

“You’re not that bad… Holden,” Bran said. His smile had somehow managed to grow even wider, but his voice had cracked ever so slightly on the last word. Holden frowned.

“Is it really that hard for you, sweetheart? Calling me by my name?”

Bran bit his lip and gave a small nod. “Yes, mas—I mean, Holden. It’s… pretty hard for me.”

“Why is that?” Holden asked, giving the kid a comforting squeeze when a nervous look rose up on his face. “No worries—whatever you answer, it won’t make me mad. It’s just that Jer and Yves haven’t had any problem with it. Of course, I suppose it’s easier for them, what with Jer knowing me since the days when I was getting the skin whipped off my back on a regular basis and Yves having thought of me as Holden for years. But with you it’s more than just habit, isn’t it?”

“Yes, mas—Holden. It’s more than just habit. You know that I love you…” Bran paused and Holden gave him an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, you may have mentioned that once or twice over the years.”

“Well, I *do* love you. But I don’t think of you as ‘Holden,’ not the way that Jer and Yves do. Even though I’m free now—and I *am* really happy to be free, I swear—I still think of you as my… As someone who… As…” He dropped his head, looking miserable. “I don’t even know what to call it.”

“Okay,” Holden said slowly. “Well, then, why don’t you try and describe it to me?”

Bran took a deep breath, letting it out with a whoosh. “I guess… I think of you as my lover, but as my boss, too. I don’t want to be with you like Yves or Jer or Alix is. I don’t want to tie you to the bed and tease you or wrestle you for who’s gonna be on top. I don’t want you to worry about pleasing me. *I* like to please *you.* I like it when you to tell me what to do. I like to sit at your feet and get fed from your hand and take your cock when you want. I like it when you give me to Jer or Yves, because being good for them makes you happy, and I like to make you happy. That’s what makes *me* happy. I like being free to make my own decisions and tell you if I don’t want to do something, but I also like having the decisions taken out of my hands and knowing that you can do whatever you want with me. I don't want to call you Holden, because that makes it seem like I'm the boss. But I don't want to be the boss. I want *you* to be the boss.” He made a face. “That doesn’t even make any sense, does it?”

Holden chuckled, pulling the boy tight against him. “It makes plenty of sense, love. You’re not the only person in the world that feels that way, I promise. There are even words for it. Submission is a good one. Masochism is similar, but it’s more about pain. It’s a pretty common thing to want. Hell, there are whole clubs where free people go to experience it. But the thing is, that’s not really what *you* want, Bran. You were a sex slave—it’s just what you’ve been conditioned to want. So I’m not comfortable having that kind of relationship with you.”

“But we already have that kind of relationship, mas—Holden,” Bran said, obviously frustrated. “You can pretend it’s not like that, but you know that it is. If we didn’t then I would have just talked to you when I first came into the library instead of waiting half an hour for you to acknowledge I was there—”

“And that is precisely why we shouldn’t be doing that sort of thing,” Holden said, cutting him off. “You *shouldn’t* have waited. You should have just said ‘Hey Holden, I want to talk,’ and we would have talked.”

There was a flash of annoyance in Bran’s eyes, not a common occurrence, and Holden’s eyebrows shot up as the boy pointedly climbed off his lap and stood in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine,” he said, making a point of looking Holden straight in the eyes. “If you want me to act like the free person I am, then I will. As a free person I’m telling you, I don’t like calling you ‘Holden.’ I don’t want to be your equal. I want to be your good boy, like I was before. And no amount of retraining is going to change that, anymore than it could change the fact that I love you. So stop treating me like a slave by telling me what I’m supposed to want, and accept that what I *don’t* want is to be your wife or your boyfriend or your long lost love. I want to be your good boy. *Sir.*”

Holden stared at him for a long moment, long enough for Bran’s face to get beet red, his head dropping in a sign of submission and his body sort of quivering, probably at the thought of what kind of eruption *that* little show would trigger from Jackass formerly known as Holden.

“I’m sorry," Bran said in a breathy voice, hunching his shoulders. "I—“

“On your knees.”

The boy looked up, a glimmer of hope in his big, blue eyes. “Holden?”

“It’s ‘sir’ to you," Holden said gruffly, giving the kid his best leer. "I *am* the boss around here after all. Alix can suck my dick.” He smirked. “Unless you think you’d be better up to the task…?”

Bran’s heart wrenching smile lit up the room. “I could give it a try," he said with obviously feigned timidness. "If it pleases you… Sir.”

“Oh it pleases me,” Holden murmured as the boy got down on his knees, using his head to push up his not-quite-master's tunic. “It pleases me very much.” He ran a hand through the boy's curls, letting out a small moan as his cock was engulfed by a hot mouth. "*You* please me very much. My good boy," he murmured, and he could have sworn he felt Bran smile.


End file.
